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ADVENTURE 

A Book of Verse By 

MARY WEIK 




BOSTON 

THE POET LORE COMPANY 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1919, by Mary Weik 



All Rights Reserved 



A' 






VL 



\A 



A number of poems appearing in this volume are 
reprinted through the courtesy of Harper s Maga- 
zine, Contemporary Verse, The Lyric, The Mad- 
rigal and The Oasis. 






MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

©CU525491 



TO MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Adventure 7 

"I Made My Sorrow Into a Song" 8 

Regret 8 

To Rachel 9 

Harmonics 9 

Whitsun-song io 

Content io 

Memory 1 1 

My Ultimate Lady 1 1 

To Sibyl 12 

White Lilacs 13 

Sleep-song 13 

Quatrains to a Woman 14 

Serenade 15 

To an Old Tintype 15 

To a New-bought Book 16 

Little Blind Sisters with Seeing Hands 16 

Prayer in Flanders — 191 7 17 

Anticlimax 18 

Pierrette Waits for Pierrot 19 

The Silly Old Woman 20 

As the Gods Give 20 

Requiem 21 

Oenone 22 

5 



Contents 



Rain 23 

Dialogue 24 

Rondeau 25 

Dirge 25 

Paid 26 

Loot 26 

Dream 28 

TRANSLATIONS 

Chinoiserie: Theophile Gautier 29 

Serenade : Paul Verlaine 30 

Barberine's Song: Alfred de M us set 31 

Sentimental Colloquy : Paul Verlaine 32 



ADVENTURE 

You can roll along the highway in a York coach, 

Or travel on your own long roan, 
Or dash along the highway with a filly and a fly; 

But what if you walk alone? 

i 
I stopped at the crossroads but a while back, 

Waiting for the tardy sun to rise; 
And there at the post stood a grey-eyed lass. 

And O for the tears in her eyes! 

Too long I tarried at the crossroads, 

Too long I loitered on the way; 
And O for the laughter in her small red mouth! 

She danced with me for a day. 

And O for two brown gipsy hands! 

And O for a gipsy's smile! 
And O for a gipsy's little brittle heart! 

She left me after a mile. 

And now I ride the highway in a York coach 

Filled full with the things I own: 
Silver and slaves and a silk-gowned wife; 

But once I walked alone! 



Adventure 



"I MADE MY SORROW INTO A SONG" 

I made my sorrow into a song, 

And sang of a pain that was bitter and lonely and 

long- 
Long as today, lonely and long as tomorrow — 
But while I made of my sorrow a song, 
I had forgotten my sorrow. 

REGRET 

If you had come to me, lad, 
That little silver night — 
Under a tilted moon, lad, 
Silver with moonlight — 
I was ready to go, lad, 
Over the world with you: 
Over the world, moon-mad, 
Down to Hell with a tune, lad, 
Down to Hell and back again, 
Home, lad, with you! 

If you had come to me, lad, 
I could have gone with you; 
And if you had never come at all — 
I could have died for you. 
I could have wept for you, lad, 
And jeered at Death and Fate — 
Called them a pair o' highwaymen 
For stealing of my mate: 
/ could have loved you so, lad, 
If you had not come . . but O, lad, 
You came a little late! 
8 



Adventure 



TO RACHEL 

Your eyes are dark with centuries of grief, 
Your pale cheeks glimmer with the ghosts of tears; 
Your hair, sombre as tired twilight hours, 
Clings to your shoulders like a child that fears 
Shadows of men at night. Your slender hands 
Restless, seek for rest . 

. . And all the while, 
The red gash of your mouth parts in an ancient 
smile. 

HARMONICS 

When you sang, the world was young again for me, 
The morning stars had sung again for me, 
And ere the song had throbbed and sighed and died, 
The little silver bells of love had rung again for 
me. 

And then, an aching old voice cried in me, 
An old wound opened in my side, in me 
An old song throbbed; and so again, the pain 
Returned — the memory of the day when my youth 
died in me. 



Adventure 



WHITSUN-SONG 

I met a lady by the sea, 
Sing, bells, sing a Mary! 
I met a lady by the sea: 
She was fain and sweet to me. 
Sing, bells, eery! 

I loved a lady by the sea, 
Sing, bells, carol holy! 
I loved a lady by the sea — 
But she only smiled at me. 
Sing, bells, lowly! 

I kissed a lady by the sea, 
Sing, bells, lilt a leven! 
I kissed a lady by the sea: 
As she died, she smiled at me. 
Sing, bells seven! 

CONTENT 

I shall go back some day to loving you, 
And you, dear lady, will return to me; 
Two travelers make charming company 
After the journey's thru: 

A bench beside a friendly open hearth ; 
A fat old woman and a lean old man, 
Smiling together at a broken fan, 
Sophisticate with mirth. 

IO 



Adventure 



What if you have your dreams of "long ago" — 
When we were young enough for tears, and when 
Your voice had not yet grown so sharp? — By then 
I shall be deaf, you know. 

MEMORY 

There was a picture 

Set in a frame of gilded filigree; 

I put it into a secret place — 

To cherish it. 

Then one day I took it out: 

Someone had cut away the picture — 

The frame, a little tarnished, 

Was still there. 

MY ULTIMATE LADY 

I said, 

My lady shall be fine, 

Fair in the face; 

She shall have grace, 

And beauty of slender line — 

My Ultimate Lady. 

I dreamed, 

My lady came to me. 
She was so fair, 
So bright of hair, 
"Surely" I said "You must be 
My Ultimate Lady." 
II 



Adventure 



She spoke, 

My lady's voice was song, 

Laugh-lilting breath, 

"I am Death." 

And I said "I have waited so long, 

My Ultimate Lady!" 

TO SIBYL 

I love thee for the sake of three friends, nine 
Times faithless — For thine eye's pale disc of gold 
I love thee . . . Yellow were their eyes, 

and cold, 
As two dull metal jewels dully shine. 
I love that wide wet scarlet mouth of thine: 
Thin scarlet gates where hooded lights go thro . . 
One friend I knew had two red lips like two 
Lost petals of a rose whose days decline. 
I love thee . . When I sleep, the hot black 

wine 
Of thy dense hair stings me to dreams of thee — 
One friend had hair as sinisterly black 
As the vast shrouds of Death. 

Far and fine 
There comes the answering laughter of the sea — 
The memory of three false friends comes back. 



12 



Adventure 



WHITE LILACS 

I said "She is gone, I know, 

But Spring will come back again: 

She will not come, but larks will come, 
And lilacs, and April rain." 

I said "She is gone, I know, 

Gone like an April rain — " 
Oh, I could have laughed and forgotten it all 

If Spring had not come again! 

SLEEP-SONG 

Swift tears of Youth, 

Swift flowing, swifter flying — 

Slow tears of Age, 

Slow drying — 

Call me no more, 

Soft sighing, 

Call no more. 

Lest I, the Dead, 

Lying beyond the years, 
Look back to Earth, 
Heeding your cry 
Swift tears — 
And sleep no more, 
Slow tears, 
Sleep no more. 



13 



Adventure 



QUATRAINS TO A WOMAN 

I 

I dream of a little day, my dear, 
When I shall see your face, 
When you shall stoop and come to me, 
Luminous with grace. 

I dream of the little day of days, 
And yet I loathe it, too; 
For if you came to me, my dear, 
I could not dream of you. 

II 

I have never seen you once, my dear, 
And yet I have seen you thrice: 
Once in a dancer's smile; and once, 
Under a nun's grey eyes. 

And once I found you meshed in a dream, 
Hidden so cunningly 
Deep in the eyes of a man, my dear, 
That laughed from my mirror at me. 

Ill 

Perhaps I shall never find you, my dear, 
Perhaps you were never born; 
Perhaps you died a lonely queen 
When rapiers and ruffs were worn. 

14 



Adventure 



But that does not really matter at all — 

The lapse of an age or two 

The only thing that counts, my dear, 
Is — I have been true to you. 

SERENADE 

A little yellow window in the dark, 

Gold in the gloom — 
A little pilgrim message thru the dark 

From her own room. 

O gentle little window of her heart 

Who shone upon 
So many ere I came; who'll break her heart 

When I am gone? 

TO AN OLD TINTYPE 

"And the Whip poor will's song is a Hand that 
plays on the withered hearts of the Dead." 

How sturdily you stand there all alone, 
Trying to wish no parent-hand were by 
To closely hold your small perspiring hand 
And comrade you . . . How scornfully you 
stand, 

Child that was I! 

If you would only step down from your frame, 
You would forget your tears, and I my sigh 
For things that are not; we would be so near, 
Knowing each other's loneliness, my dear, 
Just you and I! 

15 



Adventure 



We would play little laughing guessing games, 
You that are dead and I that soon shall die; 
But one day — you would hear a whippoorwill, 
And, O my dear! — we should be strangers still, 
Child, you and I ! 

TO A NEW-BOUGHT BOOK 

I take you into my hand 

Red 

Shining 

Fresh from the shop 

Bursting with new-born importance 

Mystic 

With the mystery of the Unread. 

Of course I know that you will be tomorrow: 
A bit of clutter on the table . . . 

But tomorrow! 

LITTLE BLIND SISTERS WITH SEEING 
HANDS 

Little blind sisters with seeing hands 

Why do you beckon so often to me 

To come from my sorrowful City of Doubt 

— Into your City that knows no doubt — 
To dwell in your shadowy lands? 



16 



Adventure 



Can it be, then you are lonely, too? 

You whose white fingers mingle with God's 

You whose vague eyes have never known Sin 

— Who, like the angels, were made without sin — 
Does Loneliness dwell with you? 

Little blind sisters with seeing hands 
Why do you beckon so often to me 
To come from my sorrowful City of Doubt 
— Into your City that knows no doubt — ■ 
To dwell in your shadowy lands? 

PRAYER IN FLANDERS— 1917 

Pretty little Mary with the yellow hair, 
Pretty little Mother Mary, listen to my prayer. 

I had a little son, and he was sweet to see; 
I had a little lovely son to sit upon my knee. 

I had a little son, and he was fine to see: 
One day you took my pretty little son away from 
me. 

Mary Little Mother, send him back again, 
Send him back to sit upon my knees and hear the 
rain 

Crying in the chimney — and we upon the floor 
Roasting apples in the ashes, eating apples four. 

Mary, pretty Mary, send him back to me! 
You have the little Christus-boy to sit upon your 
knee. 

17 



Adventure 



You have no work to do — only to sing the Name, 
Only to sit and smile all day within your golden 
frame ; 

And I must work all day, scrub and bake and scour, 
Spin and weave and sweep and sew — and lonely 
every hour. 

You have so many, Mother, and I had only one, 
You have so many little boys — I had one little son. 

And sometimes in the night, I hear him cry and call, 
Begging me to come to him — He is so very small 

That he grows lonely there, playing with the stars, 
He is so small (the stars are big!) Some day 
he'll slip the bars 

And he'll be lost in Heaven! Once he sat on my 

knee . . . 
Little Mary Mother, send him back again to me! 

ANTICLIMAX 

I made nwself a nun for you, 

And you became a priest. 
Because you said my eyes were blue 
I made myself a nun for you; 
I did not care if you were true — 

Loving I counted least: 
I made myself a nun for you — 

And you became a priest! 
18 



Adventure 



PIERRETTE WAITS FOR PIERROT 

He has never been late before . . . 

And why is it now 

That I wait and listen and long for his step 

Below? 

That I sit and hearken and hear not his step 

Below ? 

Spark o' the moon! 

Lumine the way of wandering feetj 

Fade not so soon. 

Perhaps he has wearied of me. 

Perhaps he is singing 

In Doree's garden — old songs on his mandolin 

Ringing—- 

In Doree's garden — my songs on his mandolin 

Ringing. 

Spark o' the mere! 

Flicker and flout at the changing moon — 

Her death is near. 

I will let in the millions that wait — 

Pierrot was but one — 

Millions my arms and lips and sighs 

Shall own — 

Millions shall buy — nor know my heart 

Is gone. 

Spark o' the hearth! 

Bring no old dreams of two and a fire 

Into my mirth, 

19 



Adventure 



THE SILLY OLD WOMAN 

Tiny scraps of cloth she sews 
Endlessly, 

And all the time she hums a little song, tenderly — 
Her old voice cracking shrilly on the high notes, 
Beneath her breath she hums a little song, tire- 
lessly : 
Bye, Baby Bunting, 
Daddy's gone a-hunting — 

Suddenly 

The thread breaks — the song stops — 

After a while 

She smiles a silly eyeless smile . . . 

Then 

Starts to sew and sing again: 

Bye, Baby Bunting, 

Bye— 

AS THE GODS GIVE 

I was a tall young lad 

When I knocked at your chamber door; 

(Ye were three sodden old women, weary ribald 

old women) 
"Out of your ancient store 
I will have three gifts" I said. 

"Love I will have" said I 

"Love — and the Courage to Dream — " 

(Ye were three foolish old women, silly cruel old 

women ) 
"And heart to follow the gleam 
Of Adventure — the heart that is high." 
20 



Adventure 



I thought I was victor then 

When ye granted the gifts to me — 

(Ye were three stingy old women, greedy faithless 

old women) 
. . . How should I know that ye 
Would steal them back again? 

REQUIEM 

She was born in a yellow September moon 

When the tense wind sighed 
And the eyes of the Autumn-god burned bright 

blue, 
And the wailing of women's tears seeped thru 

The wail of the tide. 

She loved me as she loved all men, 

Who loved no man; 
For when she knew the eyes of Death 
And the mastersong of his amorous breath 

Her love began, 

And she left me here alone with the moon 

When leaves burned red: 
She loosed the locks of the Door of Doubt, 
And the wailing of women's tears wept out 

The Wail of the Dead. 



21 



Adventure 



OENONE 

We were but happy children — caught and held 
Within a circle twined of Love and Youth 
That kept the world outside. 

And then the night 
When Sorrow cast her shadow on the moon, 
Bidding me weep! 

Paris was wreathing flowers for my hair — 

Purple flowers dappled with pale gold — 

And laughing, turned to crown me where I stood, 

Laughing — but as he turned, I saw him stare 

As if he saw the Session of the Stars, 

Stare — and straightway fall down upon his knees. 

I looked . . but to my eyes the woods were 

blank 
Of anything to fall in worship of . . . 
Laughing, I tried to pull him from his knees; 
But something very stern grew in his eyes 
And "Hush!" he said "Know ye not Deity?" 
And thru his lips strange murmurings came and 

went 
And ever dwelt the wonder in his eyes. 

Wounded, I strained my eyes into the dark, 
Straining to catch a glimpse of what he saw; 
But all that my two aching eyes could see 
Was but the woods, wrapped in their white moon- 
lace — 
Lonely I stood . . . 

32 



Adventure 



But Paris did not move 
To comfort me as he had always done, 
But only muttered something about "Beauty — 
Ideal — " or I know not what. 

Slowly 
He struggled to his feet and started on 
Meshed in the Dream. 

And I — I seized his arm, 
Pleading — weeping — crying the old days, 
Crying old youth, old happiness, old love, 
Old yesterdays . . but slowly, after a while, 
I saw he did not hear me, did not care, 
Saw that he had forgotten me, his wife, 
Needed me no more . . . 

And he went on, 
Alone, pulled on by the cruel hand of the Dream. 

"Paris!" I wept "Come back or I shall die!" 
"Die . . . !" answered Echo, laughing from 

the dark, 
As on the air there drifted back "Farewell!" 

RAIN 

All yesterday it rained, and all today, 

And all tomorrow little drops of rain 

Will fall upon his sodden face again; 

And I shall sleep ... So often he would 

say, 
Laughing at me in his soft cruel way, 
"Dear, you will weep when I am dead — " So 

vain 
He was — so vain (ah God, so dear!) The stain 
Of his own death lay where his laughter lay. 
23 



Adventure 



The night he died I bound my rain-wet hair 

Over my face, lest I should see him dead: 

I was afraid that he was lying there, 

Shaking with soft dead laughter in the gloom . . 

Why did I weep then when I raised my head 

And heard a wet wind whine in an empty roomf 

DIALOGUE 

Tomorrow and tomorrow! — what are we 
That we should waste our tears on faithless things? 
Yesterday's false — but on tomorrow's wings 
We shall rise deathless? — Yesterday was vile — 
Tomorrow, virgin. 

. . . Yes, but after a while, 
Tomorrow will be yesterday. 

I have loved others in my yesterdays; 
But in my great tomorrow only thou 
Shall wear my adoration's crown: I vow 
I shall be true — divinely true, I say, 
In that tomorrow! 

. . . Yes, but after a while, 
Tomorrow will be yesterday. 



24 



Adventure 



RONDEAU 

Before I die, I'll crowd my mind 
With pleasant things of human kind: 
Lure of a lake on an August night, 
Silversmooth bodies, a slim moon's light; 
Rain on the roof and a sighing wind 
In the chimney — a fire and a book combined 
Into comfort; peace in life I'd find 
Before I play the anchorite, 

Before I die 

And in my heart I'll wear enshrined 
The woman with the arms that bind 
Men to the earth — whose mouth's red might 
Draws a man back for another sight. 
And then — I'll strike my two eyes blind, 
Before I die. 

DIRGE 

Why are the candles at my head, 

Mother, my mother? 

Why are the lilies over the bed, 

Mother? 

Hush and hush, for you are dead, 

Daughter, my daughter. 

We were one and we are two, 

Lord Death has shut me out of you, 

Daughter. 

25 



Adventure 



Why is your voice so thin with pain, 

Mother, my mother? 

After a while you will find me again, 

Mother. 

Hush and hush, for dreams are vain, 

Daughter, my daughter. 

You will know the Blessed Three: 

And you will have no need of me, 

Daughter. 

PAID 

My heart was but a silent violin 

Until he came and played upon its strings; 

My heart was but a muted violin 

Until he came and plucked the chord that sings 

Of Life and that old sistersong of Life — 

Of Love. 

What matter if he flung the thing away 
When he had wrung from it the one sweet song? 
What matter if he broke the stringed thing 
When his immortal playing grew too strong? 
Trifles! ... All that matters is — My heart 
Has sung! 

LOOT 

I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams ; 

I strove with their striving, I shared their pain, 

I loved with their love, I was stained with their 

stain, 
I dreamed their dreams. 

26 



Adventure 



When Tristram made of his silver shield 
A glass for Iseult of the Scarlet Mouth; 
When the long-lorn lilies of Jacqueline 
Were torn by the Burgund lords of the South; 
When Aucassin quested for Nicolette; 
When Han Hsiang Tsu, the Flute-player, 
Followed the trail of a jade-wing moth 
Into a mandarin s garden — and there 
Found his own Paradise — 

/ was with him. 

I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams; 
I rose with their fame, I fell with their fall, 
I was their master and I was their thrall, 
I dreamed their dreams. 

When Villon swung for a single name, 

And sang to Jehanneton, Blanche and Guillemette! 

When for love of Doirenn the Small Pale Rose 

The dagger of Ruadan redly was wet; 

When Kerdual strangled his faithless love 

With the gorget he gave as a gift for her throat; 

When Liadan, weary for Kurithns sake, 

Took up her singing harp and smote, 

Tearing the strings—- 

I was with her. 

I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams; 
For Death stole a woman away from me — 
And my dreams died . . . 

So it came to be 
That I stole the jewels from dead men's mouths 
And dreamed their dreams. 
27 



Adventure 



DREAM 

All the rain doves cried at the moon last night, 
The tree frogs whimpered in the trees: 
The fireflies hid their lanterns, 
The crickets lost their tune, 
There was menace in the night, 
There was madness in the moon, 
Mist on the seas. 

And I dreamed that I lay in a high round tower 
Waiting for a Thing that never came — 
And the long hours passed 
And the little hours died ; 
And I woke in the dark, 
And an old voice cried 
"Tell me his name!" 



2* 



Adventure 



TRANSLATIONS 
THEOPHILE GAUTIER 

CHINOISERIE 

No, it is not you, madame, I adore, 
Nor you, my Juliette, nor even you 

Ophelia, no, nor Beatrix — no more 

Laura the fair with great sweet eyes of blue. 

My love lives in old China — the domain 
Of her king-father — spinning out her days 
Within a tower of finest porcelain, 
Beside the Yellow River, at her ease. 

Her little slanting eyes are full of light; 

A man could hold her foot within his hand, 
Her skin is like a copper lamp at night, 

Luminous; her nails are long and stained. 

And every night her lighted lattice brings 
A swallow to the tower, wet from the sea; 

And every night with poet-lips she sings 

Songs of the flower of the peach and the willow- 
tree. 



29 



Adventure 



PAUL VERLAINE 

SERENADE 

Like the voice of a dead man that sings to the moon 

From the night of the vaults, 
Beloved, hear climbing up into your room 

My voice, ardent and false. 

Open your ears and the door of your heart 

To the mandolin's sound. 
I have made it for you — this small singing dart 

Fashioned to wound. 

I will sing of your onyx-and-golden eyes, 

Shadowless, clear; 
Of your Lethean breast, of the Styx that lies 

In your sinister hair. 

Like the voice of a dead man that sings to the moon 

From the night of the vaults, 
Beloved, hear climbing up into your room 

My voice, ardent and false. 

And then I shall praise, as is only fair, 

That flesh, whose divine 
Rich perfume drives Sleep away — drugging the air 

With the odor of wine. 

And, for adieu, I shall sing of the might 

Of your mouth's caress, 
Of the grace of your cruelty — Angel of Light 

And Faithlessness. 

30 



Adventure 



Open your ears and the door of your heart 

To the mandolin's sound: 
I have made it for you — this small singing dart 

Fashioned to wound. 

ALFRED DE MUSSET 
barberine's song 

Merry young gentleman bound for the Wars, 

Why follow Mars 

So far from here? 
Have you not learned that the world is unkind, 

That all you find 

Is only care? 

Ye who believe that a love that was part 

Of a man's heart 

May pass away, \ \ 

Ye will find also — ye hunters of fame — ! ! 

Your gaudy name 

Lasts but a day. 

Merry young gentleman bound for the Wars, 

Why follow Mars 

So far from me? 
You bring me tears — you told me erewhile 

That my young smile 

Was so merry. 



31 



Adventure 



PAUL VERLAINE 

SENTIMENTAL COLLOQUY 

In the old lonely and ice-silvered park 
Lately, two shapes have passed into the dark. 

Their lips were lax and their dull eyes were dead, 
And one could hardly hear the words they said. 

In the old lonely and ice-silvered park 

Two ghosts have called the past out of the dark. 

"Do you remember our old passion's pain?" 
"Why should you wish me to suffer again?" 

"Does your heart beat still at my name, sung low? 
Do you still see me in all your dreams?" — "No." 

"Ah! those were fair days when our love was free, 
When young mouth clung to young mouth!" — 
"That may be." 

"Heaven was so blue and hope was so high!" 
"Hope has fled, vanquished, into the black sky." 

So they passed on where the wild grass was red, 
And only the night heard the words they said. 



32 



